Fighting Solitude (On The Ropes #3)(32)

Her grip shifted lower as she squeezed me tight.

She was only inches away from my straining erection, and I prayed that she didn’t notice it, all the while hoping that her hand accidentally brushed against it—repeatedly.

With just the thought, my cock twitched.

Fuck.

Prying her hands away, I took a giant step forward in effort to gain some space and, hopefully, sense. “I’m…uh…I’m not feeling good. I’m gonna take a shower and head to bed.”

Long strides carried me toward my room.

What the f*cking f*ck just happened?

Liv called out behind me, “I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have said anything. I’ll stop dating douchebags and you screw whoever you want.”

Well, that would be you right about now.

Son of a bitch.

I need serious mental help.

I waved her apology off. Just before closing my door on the most confusing interaction of my entire life, I replied, “See you in the morning.”

It was a lie.

Five minutes later, I saw her on the backs of my eyelids as I stroked my cock in the shower.

Then I saw her again thirty minutes after that as I tried to flood her out of my mind with Internet porn. I was going to Hell, but the two of us starred in every one of those videos. Hence the reason my night ended with me coming on my stomach before finally falling asleep.

It had been a Friday three months ago when that had happened, and every single day since had been pure and utter hell.

Apparently, I was the only one who ate the freaky, ecstasy-laced bananas that night, because while I was pounding my dick like a thirteen-year-old who’d just discovered it any time she so much as walked out of her room in yoga pants, Liv seemed completely unaffected.

Just friends. Same as always.

I couldn’t have her. I knew that much. But that didn’t stop my mind from spinning in that direction every time I laid eyes on her.

And, considering that it was now the night of the On The Ropes Youth Boxing Fundraiser Gala, I knew I was in for an evening of torture.

She’d dress up. Something tight and sexy yet unbelievably classy. She’d put on a pair of heels I’d spend weeks dreaming about f*cking her in. She’d have her hair and makeup done sleek, sultry, and agonizing—for me, anyway. The real pain was that, even though she would be on my arm when we walked through the doors, she would be fair game for every single man in the room.

No. Liv James definitely wasn’t mine.

Yet.





“HOW LONG DO I HAVE to wait before I can take the jacket off?” Quarry asked, offering an arm for me as we exited the black SUV and stepped onto the red carpet.

We were at a charity gala to raise money for the On The Ropes youth boxing program. Slate had been funding it on his own for years, and when Till had won the championship and bought half the gym, he’d done the same. It was quickly becoming too expensive for either of them to carry on their own.

The program was specifically geared toward underprivileged kids and keeping them off the streets. Since the Page brothers were the shining example of what the gym could accomplish, On The Ropes had gained a good bit of national attention. With a rising demand to expand into different locations across the country, Erica and Eliza decided to organize a yearly fundraiser to help pay the mounting expenses.

Professional boxers, new and old, graciously donated not only money, but also their time to attend the event. With Slate Andrews, Till Page, Quarry Page, and a slew of other celebrities in attendance, tickets were coveted—and expensive as hell. Wealthy businessmen and rich boxing fans flew from all over the country in order to rub elbows and hopefully sign donations checks. Last year’s gala had raised over three point nine million dollars, which had all been funneled into the newest On The Ropes location in Brooklyn, opening later that year.

Eliza and Erica had done an amazing job putting that night together. Ash and I pitched in a good bit too. It was exhausting work, but the payoff was so huge that none of us could complain. As much as we loved doing it, we all looked forward to the planning being over so we could cut loose and celebrate by eating amazing food and drinking expensive champagne.

With that in mind, I didn’t even have it in me to snap at Quarry for his continuous complaining about the suit.

“I’m going to sew you into that thing permanently if you don’t stop bitching about it.”

Okay, so maybe I did have it in me.

“And rob the world of my body? There would be riots,” he said, looking down at me with a wide smile. Camera flashes sparkled the humor in his beautiful, hazel eyes.

“I’m willing to chance it. Besides, it could be nice not to find you half naked every time I exited my bedroom. I’m not sure what kind of breakup you had with shirts, but you might want to consider a reconciliation before your pants follow suit and I’m forced to move out.”

His smile grew, but something pained passed over his face. I’d seen that look a lot over the last few months, and while I hadn’t been able to figure it out, I knew that it didn’t bode well for the rest of my evening.

“Right,” he said shortly. Dropping my arm, he shoved his hands in his pockets and aimed a smoldering smirk—complete with one mouth-watering dimple—toward the cameras.

“Good lord. If you’re going to pout, just take the jacket off now.” I sighed, wondering if this was how my parents had felt when I’d first started my period. He was so damn moody.